


Down By The River

by Bluejay141519



Series: There is no reason for you to hide [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, First Dates, Fluff, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Prompt Fill, The real marchand isnt actually in this, Tuukka and Patrice are best friends and i will die on this hill, he is mentioned tho, might be a series idk, some are still bruins some are not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:04:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: Stomping his way out of the bar parking lot, Rask buries his hands in his jacket and grumbles under his breath at the thick flakes of snow falling around him. It’s all very pretty and quiet and most would even call it beautiful, the way the white covers the branches of trees and the dark green leaves of evergreen bushes and silences the roads. Even his footfalls make little noise, the street lights illuminating the slick sidewalks for him.He hates it.(Tuukka walks home and he finds...something.)
Relationships: David Pastrnak/Tuukka Rask
Series: There is no reason for you to hide [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1904908
Comments: 9
Kudos: 84





	Down By The River

**Author's Note:**

> well, nothing like posting at the end of winter hahahah im sad! Have some fluff. Title from a song, as always, but particularly the [Dave Matthews Live Cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AW5JLUpKM_E). Theres a version on spotify that I listen to but couldnt find on youtube so have that instead.
> 
> Anyway, pls enjoy.

“Okay- _ yes_, okay. Jesus Christ will you relax Bergy? You’re worse than my mother.”

_ “You mother would let you drive drunk to teach you a lesson, I’m trying to raise the bar a little, possibly lower the odds of your death.” _

“I’m not that drunk.”

_ “What would you like me to write for your eulogy? ‘This fucking idiots last words were some beligerant cry to the world that he can do anything, including be the one person in the world who isn’t affected by alcohol’?” _

“Fuck you, I’ll walk.” Tuukka snarls, and aggressively hangs up the phone. Or- tries a few times. It takes him enough tries that he gets to hear Patrice calling his name a few times, which just gets him more angry. 

“Fucking mother hen coworkers,” He kicks at a chunk of ice by his car. “Annoying, stubborn fucking douche headed doctor who once majored in psychology and now thinks _‘ ohoho, I can just order you around because I know everything’ _. You’re in fucking pedriatics!” 

His keys jingle in his pocket as he tries to kick at the ice ball again. He misses, and decides to bring his foot back down on it to crunch it into pieces. He could do it. He could drive, and no one would know, but he’s a fucking trauma doctor. He’s seen the victims, and Patrice is, annoyingly, right. It’s fucking dumb, even if he doesn’t feel that drunk.

Correction, he thinks angrily, pocketing his keys. He’s not as drunk as he wants to be. His plan was to get as drunk as needed to no longer feel the simmering rage burn through his chest whenever he thinks about that kid.

Stomping his way out of the bar parking lot, Rask buries his hands in his jacket and grumbles under his breath at the thick flakes of snow falling around him. It’s all very pretty and quiet and most would even call it beautiful, the way the white covers the branches of trees and the dark green leaves of evergreen bushes and silences the roads. Even his footfalls make little noise, the street lights illuminating the slick sidewalks for him. 

He hates it.

All his brain can think about is the number of accidents it’ll cause, the cases third shift will have to cover, the carnage, because if he’s sliding around in his half inch sneaker treads then the rest of Boston is fucked. Especially since half of the drivers don’t use their blinkers anyway. It’s all pretty and quiet and rare in the big city, until some college student decides they really need to get laundry detergent at one AM and can’t stop at a red light with their beater car.

Still, he’d rather have that than what he had today. This kid- his parents were-

A car horn cuts sharp through the silence, making Tuukka look up as the driver spins their wheels down the road and barely manages to take a left. There’s no other cars on the road, but as he searches for the source of the horn-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He breathes, staring dumb founded at a figure clothed in black, sliding their way across the street. Not looking in front of them, at the ground with the snow on it, no. They’re looking up. At the sky. With their tongue out.

Catching _ snowflakes_.

He watches in disbelief, still plodding his way down the sidewalk, as the person - now presenting as more male under the streetlights - continues their journey to the same side of the street at Tuukka. Mouth still open, tongue still out. 

‘He’s going to eat shit’, he thinks, moments before the stranger loses his footing. There’s a single moment of shoes slipping wildly and arms windmilling before his left foot catches some grass and down he goes. 

A loud laugh bubbles out of Tuukks before he can stop it, and it takes him by surprise how much lighter it feels compared to the dark anger in his stomach. He nearly doubles over with the force of it, both hands on his knees while he does his best to balance and not copy the other guy.

“It is not funny!” The man yells, an accent that sounds vaguely similar to Tuukkas own but more pronounced, and with a bit of a lisp.

“No!” He yells back, still wheezing a bit. “It was pretty fucking hilarious.”

By now he’s managed to get close enough that he can properly see the other man. He is, stupidly, wearing black pants and black shoes and a black dress coat. The only thing of color on him is the black and yellow beanie that’s topped with the largest pompom Tuukkas ever seen and has ‘BRUINS’ in big white letters across the bottom rim.

“It was not-”

“It was a great sequence,” He says seriously, nodding up the street in the direction the car disappeared to. “First you almost get run over, then you slide your way across the crosswalk trying to and failing to catch even one snowflake, and then when I think you finally managed one you forget that the rest of the world exists and you and your expensive dress shoes go down in a spectacular display of acrobatics.”

The stranger glares, still on his ass but sitting up far enough that he’s able to cradle one of his arms close to the chest. “Did you come over here to tell me that?”

“And ask for an encore performance.” Tuukka deadpans, then nods to the arm. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s fine.” The guy says snippily, then immediately grimaces as he tries to move it. 

“Doesn’t look fine.”

The kid - and he really is a kid, this close, Tuukka can tell he’s young - drops his eyes to his hands and looks back at him warily. “What’s it to you?”

He crouches down. “I might be able to help, if you stop being an idiot for a couple seconds.”

The guy sticks his hand out slowly. Tuukka nearly snatches it closer, carefully pressing and poking. 

“It’s the thumb,” Guy says, peering closer. “What’s your name?”

“None of your fucking business.” He replies, still a little drunk and very much angry at the world.

“Okay None-of-your-fucking-business.” Guy says back, in an overly happy tone. “I’m David.”

“Hi David,” Tuukka presses around the joint. “Are you always this scatterbrained, or do we have a once a week special going on.”

David eyes his scrubs. “You’re a doctor? Aren’t doctors supposed to be nice?”

Tuukka looks him right in the eye and pops his thumb back into place. David yelps, ripping his hand out of his grasp. Tuukka stands, not even bothering to offer a hand to help out the kid. Knowing this moron, he’d reach out his injured hand.

“Get that checked tomorrow,” He says, voice a little more abrasive than David probably deserves. But then again, he almost got hit by car for some snowflakes. He deserves it. “Or get an appointment with your GP.”

Refusing to offer a goodbye, Tuukka turns on a heel and starts to resume his walk to his house. Or resume the controlled slide-stumble combo he’s got going. Whatever.

“Hey- wait!” 

Tuukka feels himself tense up, shoulders becoming stiff as wet sounding footsteps grow closer. He just wants to go home. He wants to go home and shower and fall into bed. Maybe drink some more after the shower. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

“What do you want?”

“What did you just do?”

“Stand?” He asks sarcastically, refusing to stop walking.

“No, to me,” David says, undeterred by the snow or Tuukka’s mean attitude. “That hurt.”

“Does it feel better now?” Fuck he hates being polite. He’s barely managing it now, his tone dripping with condescension. His bedside manor consists of little sympathy and a no bullshit policy that normally doesn’t go over well with the family of whatever pour soul ends up in his trauma bay. It’s so bad the nurses have gotten to calling him ‘Bones’ after the salty doctor from Star Trek. It’s a shame they don’t have a Jim in the hospital. He does his best to make up for it with a lot of “_Damn it Bergy! _”’s. 

David wiggles his whole hand. “Yeah, but what did you do?”

“I relocated your thumb. You know, put it back in the joint. Where it belongs.”

“My thumb was dislocated?”

“Kinda has to be dislocated in order for me to relocate it,” He says through gritted teeth. They’re still a little bit away from his house, but he doesn’t want to have to be next to this guy any longer than he has too. Even if talking to him has somehow, impossibly, quelled the anger in him to a little less like ‘homicidal rage’ and more like ‘some sort of hurt that he can get over in the next year or so’.

“Huh,” David - Dave? - wiggles his fingers some more. “Are you allowed to practice on someone outside of work? Isn’t that illegal or something? Are you actually a doctor or a nurse or something? Do you-”

He lied. The anger is back.

“Look,” He comes to a quick stop and turns towards the other man. “If I let you walk next to me, will you shut the fuck up?”

David blinks. “Do I have a choice?”

“Sure,” Tuukka nods. “You can walk beside me in silence, or I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth. How that?”

He can’t really tell because of the shitty street lighting, but he’s pretty sure David goes at least two shades paler. He opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it when Tuukks gives him a look.

They manage a good ten minutes of silence. Just the snow falling, thick as ever through the cold air. They’ve got at least an inch on the ground now. Rask decides he can see the appeal in it, for all that he hates what snow brings, it’s still peaceful enough. 

Then David starts whistling the tune to ‘_ marshmallow world _’ and Tuukka very briefly considers the odds of him getting away with murder.

“Jesus _ Christ _ , what do you _ want _?!” He snarls instead. They’ve got at least another few blocks, but he expected that David would have veered off eventually to go to wherever he was going. It’s not like it’s cheap to live in any part of Boston, but maybe...with the dress shoes and the dress coat that Tuukka has recognized to be pretty expensive. Probably some rich lawyers kid or something. 

He better not be living anywhere near Tuukka.

“Can I talk?”

“I’d still prefer you didn’t,”

“Well either I talk or I whistle, so-”

“God, _ why_,” He wails, looking up at the dark sky like maybe he’ll get an answer.

“I was just wondering-”

“I don’t have the _ fucking _ patience for this okay?! I get that you’re apparently Mister fucking Sunshine or whatever, but I have had a _ really _ bad day, and if you could back off before I go to jail for first degree murder, that would be just _ swell _.” 

Tuukka can tell right away that he’s being a bit harsh. His voice is loud and angry and dangerous, and his hands are shaking in fists by his side. He knows he’s not really angry at this guy, he’s angry at-

“What happened?” David asks, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes, and not an ounce of fear despite all that Tuukkas body language says _ ‘I’m about to kill you’._

He should’ve driven home. He should’ve stayed at the bar till last call, he should’ve let Bergy come get him, he should’ve slept in his car.

“I’m not straight,” He snaps. Patrice says that's the only way he talks, snapping at people. Whatever. He must be more drunk than he thought, to be disclosing his sexuality to a random guy on the street.

David blinks, confused. “O...kay? Neither am I? Thanks for telling me?”

Tuukka breathes out slow and forces his hands to relax. Some fabric thwaps him in the chest and he looks up incredulously as David shakes a pair of leather gloves him. He wants to say he’s not cold, he’s not shaking because he’s _cold_, but instead he reaches out and takes the gloves. They’re warm. He tries not to think about it.

“I’m not straight, and I had a shit time from my parents because of it, and today my last patient was this kid. His parents brought him in because they found out he had a boyfriend, and they wanted him tested for every STD on the planet. Which would’ve been- not fine, exactly, but not that bad, except that they kept arguing with the kid and he was sobbing and I heard them talking about…ways to _ fix _him.”

David looked like he sucked on something sour, lips pressed together in a bloodless line, jaw clenched. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Tuukks sighs. “_Oh _. And I got the joy of talking to my supervisor and CPS, seeing if maybe we could have done something, but those- the law is...it’s muddy. Basically got told there wasn’t anything I could do.”

“But- if they were talking harm, if-”

“We made a report to CPS and BPD,” He sighs. “I snuck him my card and told him to call but the odds are that I don’t ever see him again. He went home with them, so that- there’s nothing else I can do.”

David nods. “And that’s why you’re so salty?”

“No that’s just me,” Tuukka grins, finally turning onto his street. “Ask any of my coworkers, they’ll tell you.”

“Well no offense, but I don’t want to be back at MGH any time soon,” The kid pulls out a set of keys and points vaguely towards a house. “This is me!’

Tuukks opens his mouth to ask about that, see what dumbass thing landed David in the hospital before, when he realizes exactly which house he’s pointing too.

The one right next to his.

“_ You_,” He hisses, then whirls around, a finger already pointing at his chest. “You’re the one who’s got fucking thousand watt christmas lights turning on every fucking day at four in the fucking morning.”

David grins. “Do you like them? I-”

“Turn them _ off_,” He growls, because he’s got black out curtains and those shits still shine through them. Christmas is a shitty time of year for him - it’s the time that he has to watch all his friends go from normal to overwhelmed and exhausted, when Patrice gets that heavy look in his eyes and the people coming in cry pretty much all the time because their holiday is ruined - he does _ not _need a reminder of it. “Or I will turn them off for you.”

With that he carefully picks his way up his driveway and concrete steps. The nice stone pathway that leads to the street is mostly unused, because never has he ever thought to just walk right out of his house to the street, so it’s covered in the same inch and a half of snow that everything else is. 

“Can I at least get your real name, not your fucking business?” David yells, way too loudly for two in the morning. Jesus, this guy. 

“No!” He yells back, unlocked his door. Then he sighs, and considers, just for a second. What could it hurt. 

A lot. A lot of things could go bad with this, considering this kid.

“You’ve got to come closer if you’re going to hear it. I won’t have your pronouncing it wrong,” He continues in a much more normal level of volume. David nearly eats shit again in a mad scramble up his pathway. 

“What? Are you going to actually tell me? I’ve seen you like a thousand times and I’m finally gonna know your name this is awesome-”

“God, please shut up,” He moans. He’s got the start of his hangover coming on in a headache, and he really wanted to be asleep by now. It’s enough to ignore that this kid has been looking for him- has seen him enough times to have interest in looking at him. “Please, please if I tell you, will you shut up?”

“Yes,” David answers way too quickly. “Absolutely.”

“Tuukka. Two k’s, two u’s, one of everything else.” He tugs off the gloves and shoves them at David. “Now, please, please go home. And for fucks sake, turn off your lights.”

David nods so fast Tuukka is almost concerned he’s going to give himself a concussion. “Amazing, yes, great- oh, about the lights, I will..._ not _ turn them off.”

Tuukks freezes, halfway into his doorway. His drops his keys and turns around slowly. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

“I asked nicely.” He hisses. He’ll burn the whole place down if he has too. They’re going off.

“You didn’t, but I don’t care. I have _ demands._”

“You- what?” Tuukka sputters, too shocked at the audacity to fully process a more articulate reply. 

“You demanded that I turn off my lights, so I will turn them off, only if my own demands are met!” David responds cheerfully.

“Are you even a real human?” He questions. He’s seriously, honestly considering that he was stupid enough to drive drunk, got in a car accident, and this is all one long hallucination before he dies. “Do you exist? Is this the correct plane of reality you're supposed to be in?”

David makes a confused face, but it breaks back into a smile when he asks, “Go get coffee with me?”

“Coffee,” Tuukka repeats slowly. “That’s...that’s your demand. I go get coffee with you, you turn the fucking neon spotlights off.”

“They’re just Christmas lights Tuukks, I don’t understand-”

“Tuuk_ ka _,” He corrects.

“I know what I said,” David continues, not even remotely perturbed by the interruption. “Anyway- coffee. You and me.”

Christ, he just wants to sleep. “How the fuck are we going to go for coffee, my schedule is so unpredictable it’s embarrassing.”

David just _ keeps smiling _. “Mine too! Mine’s more crazy, actually, but currently it’s pretty set. Mostly predictable.”

“Right so...guess we can’t-”

“Text it to me?” David asks, holding his phone and looking shy for the first time all night. “Your schedule. So then we can plan!”

“We don’t have each others numbers-”

“Guess you’ll just have to give me yours,” David inserts smoothly, and oh, _ oh _this man is trying to fucking hit on him. He’s asking for a fucking date.

He could just duct tape towels over the cracks in his blinds. If he really, really wanted to.

(He really, really doesn’t.)

“Fine,” He sighs. The door is still open and he’s still standing there, letting the heat out. “Fine, fuck, give me your phone.” 

He types in his number and texts himself, then tosses it back at David. “Now get off my porch before I call the cops.”

**...**

Tuukka doesn’t really know how it happens, exactly, but their one singular cup of coffee together turns into two, into three, then lunch and- their schedules somehow always manage to line up just right that there’s a time to meet. 

He doesn’t know _ why _ he says yes, exactly. He keeps thinking about how stupid this is, dating his random neighbor - shit, Tuukka doesnt even know what David does for work. And he is- _ they _ are dating. Tuukka won't dance around that, it’s the definition of what they’re doing. Going on dates, they are in fact, dating. A couple. Tuukka certainly isn’t seeing anyone else, anyway. He just isn’t about to try the ‘what are we’ talk.

Because- well. He doesn’t know why he says yes, but every time David texts him, he feels better. He could be in the worst mood, just lost a patient, another shitty situation that he can’t do anything to fix, but if David texts him - ‘_ Coffee tomorrow?? Can go for a walk by the harbor, I’ve got our dunks pre-ordered ;) ;)’ _ \- it always makes him smile. He always says yes, and chirps him about his addiction to Boston’s favorite coffee chain. 

Tuukka likes dunks as much as the next guy, but there's only so much Dunkin' Donuts one can consume before they start looking for a little variety.

_ ‘I have to keep my sponsorship don't I? It’d look pretty bad if I took my bf to Starbucks or something :P’ _

Boyfriend.

Well that clears that up.

“What’s the deal with you?”

Tuukka startles so bad he drops his phone. “God _ fucking _damn it Bergy!” 

The stupidly good looking pediatric doctor smiles. It would be enough to put the public at ease, a very practiced _ ‘it’s okay, I know what I’m doing, I’m going to help you _’ smile that he gives to his patients families.

Tuukka is not his patient, and Tuukka is not looking for comfort, so Tuukka can see the way his hair isn’t gelled so much as greasy and the way he’s paler than a middle of winter skin tone would allow. The bruises under his eyes aren’t exactly subtle either.

“I don’t get where people get on thinking you’re nice,” He grumbles, scooping up his phone and checking to make sure the screen isn’t cracked. “You did that on purpose.”

“Oh sorry, I saw you smiling and knew that something must be wrong.”

“Asshole,” Tuukka growls, shoving his phone into his pocket and picking up a pen to get started on some of the stack of paperwork Jake had slapped in front of him when he came up to the desk. “What are you doing over here anyway? Just trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Maybe I wanted to see how well Jake’s been studying,” Bergy grins, just barely dodging the pen Jake chucks at him from his seat. “He’d revive you, wouldn’t you Jake?”

“You have more training than me, and you’d have caused it, and I don’t feel like getting murdered when Tuukka inevitably recovers, because he’d be too stubborn to die.” Jake mumbles, then smartly pushes himself to the other side of the large circle desk area that the staff call the ED’s chaos hub. It’s an apt name.

Tuukka eyes Patrice closely. “Seriously, shouldn’t you be doing something else? Like. Sleeping, or eating, or sitting down for more than three minutes?”

Bergy laughs. It sounds hollow. “Those are boring.”

“And _ yet _ they are all things that you need to do in order to not end up in one of my hospital beds. _ Again _.”

“How do you know I haven’t done those things, hmm? You’re admitting that you actually care about me?”

“I’m admitting that I don’t want you to be wheeled into my ED because you passed out trying to go up some stairs.” He shifts one folder over into the ‘done’ pile of cases waiting to be processed. “Those beds are not meant for our own doctors.”

“Hence why we don’t ever do this...sleeping and resting thing you speak of.” Tuukka passes him one of his own files, which Bergy opens automatically and starts to read through. Tuukka frequently misses places he’s supposed to sign, and has more than once had to drive back to the hospital just for a signature so someone can go home.

“Right, that’s why you specifically always seem to end up with one of us stick you with an IV.” Tuukks gives him a look. “I’m serious Patrice.” 

Bergy sighs. “So am I.” At Tuukka's glare he hurries to add, “I meant about the first part. You’ve been smiling a lot more, yet you won’t say a word about it. I am curious.”

That’s a lie. 

If Patrice is curious, it really means his entire staff has noticed but been too smart to directly ask him about it, so they eventually pooled together to sick Bergy on him. 

“Keep being curious then,” He grumbles. “I’m not telling you.”

“Aw c’mon _ Tuukkah _,” Patrice wheedles, like pronouncing his name with a weird emphasis on the ‘k’ is going to get him to spill. “Is it a person? It’s got to be a person. You met someone huh?”

What will get Tuukka to spill, however, is the opportunity to tease Bergy. “Maybe I did. Maybe I’m going to settle down and get married before you, prove my mother wrong.”

Bergy laughs. “Prove mine wrong too.” 

There’s a pause. Then-

“Wait, what? _ Really _!?” Patrice’s voice drops into a whisper, but his tone is high, like a squeak. 

“Why are you so excited about this- _ oof !_”

Bergy’s arms tighten around him for a second before he shakes him so hard his teeth rattle. “What is _ wrong _with you?!”

“We all thought you were going to die alone!” Bergy whisper-yells, and Tuukka is happy that his friend is taking into consideration that his hospital only employs people who love to gossip, but his staff is most definitely watching him. It’s fine. 

“I didn’t say I was about to get married-”

“But you’re _ dating_,” Patrice says, and just a bit of the heaviness seems to have left his shoulders. “You are like. A living person now, and you are considerably less grumpy, and I think I saw you take your scheduled break for once in your life last week.”

Tuukka holds up a few fingers, going back to his paper work. He never gets the time to do this. “Four times!?” Bergy does yell this time. “You actually took your break four times. Who the fuck are you and what happened to my grumpy ED doc?”

Tukka is about to snap something in response when an idea starts to form. 

Patrice is technically right. He has been out more since Pasta pretty much dragged him out on a date. He’s actually slept more, because he comes home happy, and he’s just- felt better.

Bergy’s pager goes off and he speeds towards the elevators without a goodbye, but Tuukka doesn’t mind. He’s already on his phone, texting David with a question.

_ ‘I know this is really cliche,_’ He types. ‘_But you wouldn’t happen to know any other less than straight guys who are single and might be looking to date? _’

The text bubbles pop up and go away for a few moments before: 

_ ‘I know a guy :D’ _

**...**

There’s a knock on his door at 2 am on a Wednesday. Tuukka, who’d just gotten off of third shift, is very fortunately still wide awake. 

Awake enough to be mad at himself for the smile that spreads across his face. There is only one person with the balls to knock on his door at 2 am on a Wednesday. Or rather- only one person he knows crazy enough to do it. 

He sighs and pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up. He’s tired. He’s showered, he’s eaten, he’s comfortable and he’s almost relaxed enough to go to bed. Yet he still finds his feet padding their way over to the door.

David looks so frantic when he opens it that for a moment Tuukka is really scared he hurt himself. 

And then he opens his mouth. 

“Okay I’m really glad you’re awake and what not but I seriously need your help because it’s snowing again and I just came home from a roady so I was tired right and I forgot about my cat and I opened the door and now-”

“Woah,” Tuukka blinks at the mass of word vomit thrown his way. “Alright can you slow down-”

“She’s not a big cat!!” David looks legitimately distressed, hands running through his hair in agitation. “And there’s so much snow on the ground and it’s _ still snowing, _ she could turn into a cat-sicle!”

“Alright, I’m going to ignore that last part,” Tuukka says, already seeing where this is going. “How hard is it to find a cat at two in the morning-”

David inhales deeply and then says in a voice deep with dread, “She’s nearly all white.”

Tuukka peers outside over Davids shoulder as the six inches of snow on the ground. He left when it was just starting, but it’s been coming down super heavy since then and isn’t supposed to stop until tomorrow morning. Like a full twenty four hours from now.

He sighs. David beams.

“If her name is Snowball I’m not helping you.” He grumbles, reaching behind the door to grab his coat and his sneakers. His boots are...somewhere in his house. He’s not looking for them.

“Of course I didn’t name her Snowball, I’m more creative than that,” David scoffs, handing him some gloves. Tuukka realizes as he’s shrugging them on that, not only did he just take them without a single chirp and is therefore losing his edge, but that they’re also the same ones that David gave him to wear the first night. The warm leather ones with the flannel on the inside that fit his hands perfectly.

They pick their way down his driveway. “Well, what’s her name then? I’m not calling for Buttercup or something.”

David snorts, digging in his pocket for something. “She showed up under my porch a year ago and wouldn't stop making noise until I gave her attention, and she didn’t have a chip or anything so I sorta kept her. She’s nice- to me anyway, but she’s a little shit to basically anyone else, so I named her Marchy.”

“That’s...unique.” He says slowly, thinking vaguely if there’s a bigger story behind that. The name almost seems familiar. “Did she just get out?”

“Yeah like two minutes ago, she probably went for my neighbors trash again. Here,” David doesn’t wait for Tuukka to move, just grabs his hand and tilts it palm up. He’s got a plastic baggie in his hand fiddles around with the Ziploc.

“You realize that you could’ve just looked for her yourself since you seem to know where she is,” Tuukka raises an eyebrow as a light flush colors his companions cheeks. “Did you let you cat out just see me David?”

David makes a face. “You don’t have to use my first name all the time you know,” He says, dumping a handful of tiny brown things into his hand, and completely avoiding the question. “Those are her favorite.”

“Well I don’t know what else to call you,” Tuukka grumbles, intentionally gruff to hide how embarrassed he is at how happy he feels about the idea of Pasta nearly killing his cat just to meet Tuukka again. He makes a face of his own at the little treats in his glove. It’s fucking freezing outside. This cat better have more than one brain cell and actually respond to it’s name, otherwise it’s not going to be having a fun time.

David pushes him towards one end of the street and starts trudging through the snow towards the other. “Just call me Pasta!” He calls back. “All my friends do.”

“Naturally, you don’t have a normal nickname,” He snarks.

“It’s based off my last name, now start looking!”

Tuukka chucks a little cat treat at him with spite. It flies a few inches in front of him and lands in the snow with a very anti climatic lack of noise.

“Stupid cat,” He grumbles, kicking some ice and rattling the treats around his palm. “Stupid weather, stupid cold, stupid rich kid being stupidly nice and endearing.” 

He sighs, looking up at the sky. “Stupid me for falling for him,” He murmurs, and keeps walking. There’s nothing moving around him and he can’t hear any cat like noises anywhere. At this rate, the cat’s going to be stiff as a board by the time they find her.

He gets another few steps before something in his brain registers that he’s seen this guy before. Not just like before on their previous dates but before- like he’s familiar in a way that predates their first interaction.

“Pasta,” He mutters, staring around at the drifts of snow. “David…” 

He’s still for a second, before everything falls into place. He whirls around and stares, wide eyed open mouth at his newly found neighbor who’s running through the snow. 

“David _ Pastrnak _ ?!” He screeches, because no, no way. This is not happening. He did not relocate the dislocated thumb of- he didn’t yell at David Pastrnak about Christmas lights. He hasn’t gotten coffee with- he _is not_ _ dating _ a professional hockey player.

And he _ certainly _ is not looking to spend his entire morning (literally!! 2 am!! On a Wednesday!!) looking for a _ cat _ belonging to a _ Boston Bruin_.

David- _ pasta- _turns around with a grin. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” He says, like the six year old he is. He turns back around, still calling “Marchy!” again and again and making this weird noise. 

“You- you, you’re- you’re a-” He stumbles backwards out of shock and something rather solid bumps into his leg. He yelps, freezes in place, and looks down to see a cat winding around his legs. 

A _black_ cat. With an almost totally white furred face, two spots of black, one on an ear and the other over one eye. 

“You found her!” David is suddenly right in front of him, reaching down to pick up the small creature. It lets out a purr, quivering slightly as she snuggles into Pasta’s arms. 

Tuukka wants to say a lot of things, ranging from a flat ‘_that game against the panthers was shit’ _ to screaming _ ‘what the FUCK- _’ over and over again.

“You named your cat after Brad Marchand?” Comes out of his mouth instead.

"I told you it fit her personality!"

"Her- she's a black cat, you _idiot_." Tuukka stares at him a moment longer. "You're a fucking hockey player?"

“You didn’t know?” David looks confused for a moment, then the absolutely delight that covers his face is so in character, Tuukka can’t help himself. He steps forward, grabs David’s face in his hands, and kisses him hard. David makes a noise of surprise, but it's the cold fur brushing his chin has him startling back. 

Pasta looks a little dazed but smiles. “Well I like that,” He says, then grins wider. “This one has to get inside, but...would you want to come too?”

It’s actually the first time Pasta has invited him back to his place, however ironic it is. He wonders rather briefly how many times he’s been burned trying to date someone because he’s a hockey player. And that- he’ll freak out about it later. All he knows is that he feels the same about this idiot right now as he did a few minutes ago.

“Yeah,” Tuukka smiles. “Yeah I do.”

**////**

<strike> _ Bonus _ </strike>:

“Hey, that guy you know,” Tuukka mumbles, resting his head on Pasta’s bare chest. “For my friend. Is he on your team?”

David hums affirmatively. “Why?

“Just…” He busies himself tracing patterns over Pasta’s abs, while his boyfriend runs his fingers through Tuukkas hair. “My friend, he’s really nice. Like. Too nice sometimes? And I don’t want him to get hurt.” He bites back the ‘again’, because it’s not really his story to tell. “He deserves someone nice.”

“That’s very convenient,” Pasta says back, light like he’s trying not to laugh. “Because I was going to say the same thing about the guy I know. The only thing is, he’s sort of a...pest. But once you get to know him I swear-”

“You didn’t,” Tuukka groans. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I mean- there’s a reason I named the cat after him, is all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks alex for the prompt! You asked for 82 OR any of the ones where one party is very excited about the holidays and the other really is not, and as such you got:
> 
> [you knock on my door at 2 in the morning because your very white cat got out and you need help trying to find them in the three feet of snow we have] + [why can’t you turn your Christmas lights off at a reasonable hour? they’re way too bright and some of us are trying to sleep. if you won’t turn them off, i’ll turn them off myself] + [I’m walking home from the bar and it’s snowing and you see me trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue]
> 
> The working title for this was bowl of pasta gets some salt, incase anyone wanted to know.


End file.
